it's day 47 of me moving cities for someone who ghosted me three months later. i just saw that Emily Armstrong rocked some Assamese Gamusa on stage. meanwhile, i’m still trying to figure out if that means i need a whole new wardrobe to fit in or just start dressing like i’m going to a funeral for my poor life choices. honestly, why do i keep thinking things would go well, just like Emily slayed at...
wait, i just opened my spotify wrapped and realized my entire personality is based on the theme songs of sad video game characters. like, am i a person or just a walking soundtrack for existential crisis? last year was just me listening to that one eight hour loop of lo-fi music while staring into the abyss, contemplating my life choices. i thought it was ambiance, but clearly it’s a cry for help.
i refused to join that pottery class, and now im in an emotional feud with a random Instagram artist who has no idea i exist. honestly, i still scroll through their page wishing they would post about making mugs so i could practice my 12-step plan for when we finally meet at an art fair.
i refused to join that pottery class, and now im in an emotional feud with a random Instagram artist who has no idea i exist. honestly, i still scroll through their page wishing they would post about making mugs so i could practice my 12-step plan for when we finally meet at an art fair.
no because i just spent an hour plotting the life story of a stranger at the coffee shop, and now im convinced their troubled romance is the plot of my future novel - like, they have to face heartbreak before reuniting at a library wedding, and the best part? they dont even know i exist - so technically, i'm like their unsolicited ghostwriter, and i think that means i deserve a co-author credit fo...